


To The End

by HinaSohma



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Ferard, Gen, M/M, MCR, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal gerard, Suicide Attempt, Suicide mention, alcoholism tw, drugs tw, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:55:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HinaSohma/pseuds/HinaSohma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onstage, Gerard feels electric. Off stage, Gerard feels dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The End

Being on stage had a way of making everything feel alright. Nothing mattered. They were out there, singing, playing bass, guitar, drums, what ever. And Gerard felt electric. Like the blood in his veins was fucking heroin, like he was on top of world. Nothing mattered on stage. Each show brought back his hope. He wasn't alone. No matter how bad shit got, people cared about him. It was different when they were numbers. People who had bought a CD, showing up as figures on charts. But here, they were real. He could see their faces, hear their voices. Every show could be his last, and as long as he was up there, he was bulletproof.

Too bad for him, shows end. And he ends up back on to tour bus with enough shit beer to make him drunk, and enough matches to keep him stoned. He spent a lot of time holed up in the bathroom. Touring in Phoenix wasn't very different. They were staying for a few days, taking a break. They had been on tour nonstop, had a week before the next show, and the bus was in need of some new tires. So they got rooms at a motel. They could have gotten better than what they did, honestly, but they didn't want to draw attention. Two rooms, two beds each. He was crashing with Mikey. 

Mikey fell asleep earlier than one would think, in an alcohol induced lull. It left Gerard to his own devices. Gerard was twenty fucking six. People had been telling him for years to give it time. It gets better. He'd live. But here he was, ten years later, with cheap liquor and a gun. He'd had it with him since he started tour. He wanted to die here, where he felt happiest. He wasn't feeling too happy right now. 

Gerard was standing in the room, next to the door, adjusting his jacket. His hands froze when he opened the bag. A pistol, nothing fancy, with two bullets. He didn't want to die in the room his brother was asleep in. He didn't want to wake Mikey up with the sound of gunshots. So he looked at the sleeping figure in the far bed, hand on the doorknob. 

"I'm sorry, little brother. I love you." He whispered into the room. His words hung in the air until he moved, the cool metal of the gun shocking his skin as it was tucked with one hand, under his waistband, pressed into his side. He pulled his shirt over it, opened the door, and stepped out. He shut the door, standing on the side walk that ran the length of the rooms, the parking lot on the opposite side. The lights were on in the room that held Frank, and Ray. He whispered a good bye to the curtains, and then began through the cars. He had seen a bridge, a little ways back. Maybe he could find it again. 

He thought he heard some one behind him, but he couldn't see anything when he looked. It was too dark... And it seemed to be nothing. It wasn't until he reached the lighted bridge, two electric lamps with covers on either side, that he slid out the gun. He cocked it, looking over the edge. 

"Gerard!" The yell was shrill. He turned back, looking over his shoulder. Frank. "Gerard, what the hell are you doing? Put the gun down. Oh my god." The other ran at him... But Gerard didn't want to be stopped. He pressed the cool metal of the barrel to his head. 

"Don't try to stop me... I made up my mind. I have to do this. Don't try to stop me." He could feel the tears welling up. He put his pointer finger on the trigger. 

"What about Mikey? And Ray and I? You can't leave us. We need you." Frank's voice was pleading, as he stood a few feet away. Gerard's hand faltered. He couldn't even kill himself right. What a fucking waste.

"I need to. This is the only place i'm happy. I have to do it here." Gerard said, his lip quivering, as he closed his eyes. 

"Then kill me first." Frank said, his voice wavering slightly, as he took a shaky breath. 

"What?" Gerard asked, lowering the gun slightly. 

"Kill me first. I don't want to do this with out, Gerard... You mean to much to me. If I really can't stop you, kill me first." Frank opened his arms, exposing his chest. He closed his eyes. 

"Frank... I can't do that..." The first tear fell and the gun felt like a hundred pounds of lead, threatening to snap his wrist. He dropped it, letting it land on the ground. It fired, away from them, surprising them both. 

Frank's eyes shot open, looking between Gerard and the gun. But Gerard was focused on the water, behind him. There was only one bullet left. He felt the second tear fall. 

"Maybe we should cancel the rest of the tour, Gerard. You're too important." Frank said, stepping forward until he could touch his friend. 

"No! The tour is the only thing that kept me alive. I... I can't do this. I feel so fucking stupid all the time. I'm twenty fucking six years old! When does it get better? When?!" He half asked, half yelled, turning to face Frank fully once more. 

"I don't know. Never, if you kill yourself. People look up to you, Gee. You're a fucking hero. You're important. We love you. I love you. I don't want to be here with out you... It's never too late for things to start looking up. Isn't that what you tell fans?" Frank asked. 

Gerard collapsed forward, his arms around his friend. The third tear fell. Then another. Another. He wasn't a hero. He was pathetic. No matter what Frank said. But, oh god, he didn't want to hurt Frank. New guns were easy enough to come by. He'd have another plan. He'd figure it out. Right now, it was enough to have Frank.


End file.
